Chairman Ralph's Ministry Of Truth

I first got acquainted with Screaming Lord Sutch's music at the local public library, of all places, where I stumbled across HANDS OF JACK THE RIPPER (1972). As a budding record collector, the cover – featuring His Lordship in full cape and top hat, seemingly ready to spring from a dark corridor – offered ample incentive to check out the contents. 

So did the “Heavy Friends” whose names are plastered prominently on the cover (Ritchie Blackmore, Matthew Fisher, Carlo Little, Keith Moon and Noel Redding). The album is chiefly remembered for the controversy over its creation – allegedly, recorded live, without the participants' knowledge – though I honestly didn't give a damn about the implications.

I only had one question: did the contents rock? The answer was a resounding “yes,” with the title track – a sequel, of sorts, to Sutch's 1964 single, “Jack The Ripper” – making the strongest impression. Like most committed music fans, however, I knew little about the man behind the monster rock image until I picked up Graham Sharpe's biography, THE MAN WHO WAS LORD SUTCH (2005). 

As it turns out, the real story is every bit as compelling as the image, if not more so. The story of His Lordship's real life counterpart, David Sutch, is that of a quintessential outsider – one shaped by postwar poverty, and a drive to be heard – who also struggled with lifelong depression, as well as the natural doubts and vulnerabilities that any entertainer in his position confronts. 

However, you don't need to be a show business denizen to understand the issues that Sutch faced – which inspired me to give a presentation for my local depression support group. To gain a deeper understanding of the Sutch phenomenon, I reached out to Graham. His responses, in turn, formed the heart of a presentation that I gave to my local depression support group in October 2013. 

Since then, I've had the opportunity to further expand on my original presentation, with additional insights from longtime Savages drummer “Wild” Bob Burgos – whom I also thank, as well, for his contributions. Further observations are welcome: for now, just sit back, crank up one of the records discussed here – and reflect on Screaming Lord Sutch's life and times. 

ENTERTAINMENT OR DEATH: THE STRANGE CASE OF SCREAMING LORD SUTCH
In August, 1963, the strangest of characters gatecrashed the British political landscape – in William Shakespeare's hometown of Stratford-upon-Avon, no less, as the National Teenage Party candidate. However, even in a land that's long welcomed eccentrics of all stripes, the horror-themed rock 'n' roll singer who called himself Screaming Lord Sutch cut an unusual figure indeed.

Running on the slogan, “Vote for the ghoul – he's no fool,” Sutch called for abolishing dog licenses, more public toilets in Stratford, the introduction of commercial radio, and the right to vote at 18. “You can fight for your country at 18 and you can be hung,” Sutch proclaimed. “But when it comes to voting you are still a child.” (John Repsch: THE LEGENDARY JOE MEEK, pp. 210-211) 

In the end, Tory candidate Angus Maude swept to the House of Commons with 15,000 votes. Still, Sutch's tally (208) “was actually quite heartening in view of the fact that the teenagers whom he was representing did not yet have the vote,” notes Joe Meek's biographer, John Repsch. However, Sutch's last two proposals became law in five years – so, perhaps, the ghoul knew more than the public cared to admit. (Repsch: 211) 

Sutch's colorful run marked the first of nearly 40 similar campaigns, which – along with his live gigs, and records – gave new meaning to the word “flamboyant” – whether it meant leaping from a coffin to start the show, singing with a toilet seat around his neck, or setting various objects on fire...whatever it took to entertain, Lord Sutch would do. 

On June 16, 1999, this remarkable story ended, when Sutch's last partner, Yvonne Elwood, entered his London home, and found him – standing upright by the stairs, or so it appeared. “I thought he was playing a joke on me and wanted me to take a photograph of him – so I did,” she told Sutch's biographer, Graham Sharpe. “Then suddenly I realised what he'd done.” 

Investigators later determined that the 58-year-old Sutch had wound a child's jump rope around his neck, and ruled out foul play in his death. His survivors included one son, Tristan, from a previous relationship – who inherited an estate worth nearly 400,000 GBP (Great British Pounds). 

"THE PAIN OF IT ALL" 
David Edward Sutch isn't the first entertainer – nor, unfortunately, the last – to die by his own hand. Still, casual and committed fans alike couldn't resist asking: how could the man who always put forth such a boisterous image want to end his own life? 

As Sharpe observes in his biography, THE MAN WHO WAS SCREAMING LORD SUTCH (2005), one clue comes from a note – entitled “Depression” – that surfaced after his death. Whether the words are original is unclear, but the meaning is unmistakable: 

“Living with depression is the nearest thing to death. Even more than sleep. In sleep you are out cold. In depression you feel yourself dying and you can't do anything about it. The deep pain and torture you go through is hell. You are awake but you feel the pain of it all.” (Sharpe: 222-223) 

Dave Savage, who's continued performing a Sutch tribute act – in full top hat, and cloak – summarized the consensus this way: “It is tragic that a man like Dave, who had friends in just about every town, couldn't tell anyone how he really felt. A man who was surrounded by people with genuine love for him had to die alone.” (Sharpe: 223) 

What other inferences can be drawn about Sutch's mindset, and struggles? To get further insights, a brief look at his life is in order. 

"TOO NEAR THE KNUCKLE" 
Born November 10, 1940 in north London, Sutch's mother, Annie Emily Sutch, named her son after the Charles Dickens character, David Copperfield – by all accounts, an appropriate reflection of their lifestyle, which she supported as a cleaner, cook, shop assistant, and waitress.

Sutch's own working life was brief and unremarkable. After leaving school at 16, he lasted one day at a sheet metal factory, before he moved on to life as an plumber, mechanic's assistant, and window cleaner – which he liked, but not for conventional reasons, as Sharpe's book makes clear: “I could work the hours I wanted, and, if it was freezing cold or raining, I could stay in bed. The work gave me the freedom to be myself, let my hair grow long and practise songs as I went on my rounds.” (Sharpe: pg. 27) 

By the late 1950s, Sutch begun performing live, and – between 1961 and 1964 – burst onto the British Beat scene with several uniquely unhinged singles – “Till The Following Night,” “Jack The Ripper,” “She's Fallen In Love With A Monster Man,” and “Dracula's Daughter” – that didn't bother the charts, but cemented the horror-themed image that kept him in the public eye for decades. 

Even so, when most of his peers made do with 20 GPB (Great British Pounds) per week from their managers, Sutch could earn 65 GBP per night as one of the era's top draws. (Sharpe: 58) He and his merry men dressed as cavemen, monks, or Roman gladiators – when they weren't fooling with fake cadavers, knives, and skulls... or plastic hearts and lungs that they'd chuck into the crowd. If that didn't work, Sutch might start throwing the real thing...in this case, pigs' heads and hearts. 

Getting banned helped spread the word, too, as Sutch discovered with his first single, “Till The Following Night” – which featured a creaking coffin lid, shrieks and screams that his producer, Joe Meek, gleefully recycled from a previous record by the Moontrekkers: “Night Of The Vampire.” 

Alas, “Night Of The Vampire” was banned by the BBC as “unsuitable for people of a nervous disposition” – so,“Till The Following Night” didn't escape a similar fate. Nor did “Jack The Ripper” fare better, even in a less politically incorrect era – in 1988, popular outcry apparently persuaded RCA/Ariola to cancel a remake of the song that Sutch had planned to release 100 years after the murders. (Sharpe: 57) 

However, Sutch remained the man to beat live, as guitarist Cliff Bennett told Sharpe: “It is easy to forget how dramatic his act was in those days. When he came out of his coffin, makeup on, long hair flying, he frightened the life out of the audience.” (Sharpe: 40) 

As Graham Sharpe informed me, in our 9/4/13 email chat, he considers “Till The Following Night” Sutch's strongest vocal performance, and one that “deserved to be a hit,” while “'Jack The Ripper' was too near the knuckle for its day,” he advised. “A couple of years later, and a 'Ready, Steady, Go' appearance might have propelled it onto the charts.” 

“I'M PHONING THE PRESS" 
It was during this period that Sharpe got to know Sutch as a rookie reporter for his local paper. As he recalled, he “always found him a fascinating and likeable if slightly naïve person, always keen to please, driven by a desire to be noticed but in some ways an innocent abroad.” 

At times, this lust for attention got physically hazardous, as bandmate Paul Nicholas discovered during a 1974 London gig – when his employer leaped into the audience to beat up a heckler. However, the crowd took exception to these maneuvers – and responded by chasing the band out of the venue. 

“I was halfway down the road with Dave and he was in a telephone box,” Nicholas recalled, in Sharpe's book. “I said, 'Dave, what are you doing?', and he said, 'I'm phoning the press.' I said, 'They're coming down the road.' 'Coward.'” (Sharpe: 53) 

In 1983, Sutch reaped an unexpected second act in life by founding the Official Monster Raving Loony Party. As the name suggests, its positions – giving heated toilets seats to pensioners, for example, or instituting a two-day workweek, with a five-day weekend – weren't calculated to win massive votes, but served two main purposes: offer a vehicle to make fun of British politics, and keep Sutch's name alive.  

I asked Sharpe if these endeavors held Sutch back from being taken seriously by the public that he never stopped courting. He replied:  “It is very easy to be pigeon-holed by the media, but almost impossible to change that perception. The political niche he developed allowed him two bites at the celebrity cherry and he couldn't resist its allure with the potential, if illusory, for an element of serious attention. He didn't have the self-discipline to escape the stereotyping he was being seduced into.” 

Even so, the Loony Party – which continues today – chalked up some notable wins. Sutch's proudest alternative political moment came in 1990, when – in yet another local election – he garnered more votes than the candidate of the Continuing Social Decmoratic Party, led by David Owen, former Foreign Secretary. The SDP promptly dissolved within days. 

Small wonder, then, that Sutch could roll out such campaign slogans like, “Vote for insanity – you know it makes sense.” When Margaret Thatcher was forced to resign from office in 1990, Sutch – who'd run against the so-called “Iron Lady” in her own district of Finchley – wrote, in a letter to The Daily Telegraph: “Thatcherism may come and go, but Loonyism – which represents the true spirit of the British people – will go on forever.” (Sharpe: 135) 

"CHASING SOMETHING HE COULD NOT CATCH" 
Sutch's bandwagon seemed fated to scream on forever, but some cracks were beginning to appear behind his perennially sunny public exterior. As Sharpe recounts, Sutch's earning power stayed steady, but hardly lucrative – recording 23,320 GBP in performance fees between November 1993 and January 1995. (Sharpe: 159) 

In May 1995, however, His Lordship faced a major financial crisis, triggered by a home that he'd bought in the seaside town of Hastings – but couldn't afford. Unfortunately, Sutch's collecting mania literally knew no bounds. as his previous partners, Thann Rendessy, and Giselle Mehennet, quickly discovered. 

For starters, Sutch filled his home with Thann – then, his mother's property, including a shed, and a garage – from floor to ceiling, with whatever items that he bought on impulse, picked up off the road, or took home from friends. “He couldn't get rid of stuff – he just couldn't do it,” Thann told Sharpe. “He kept every bill, every electric bill, phone bill – from the fifties onwards. He would not even throw away a piece of paper – he would just put 'em in a box.” (Sharpe: 101) 

Suffice to say, tossing anything was never on the agenda, though Thann felt that it was no environment for a child – which is why she took Tristan to America, in 1977. However, Sutch did have to address his housing situation – when Barclays sued for 194,000 GBP, including a 120,000 GBP loan for the Hastings property, one of five that he owned by this point. 

Eventually, both sides settled, reducing His Lordship's debts to a manageable level – though, as promoter Paul Barrett told Sharpe, “I think he realised that now he'd never catch up – he didn't have another thirty years in which to start over – he was chasing something he could not catch.” (Sharpe: 162) 

When I asked Sharpe how these behaviors fit into his understanding of the man, he responded: “It is amazing that extreme 'hoarding' has only recently been acknowledged as a serious problem. Today he could have been helped to deal with it, although he might well have preferred to appear in a Channel 5 TV show treating it as something of a joke.”

"ANNIE EMILY SUTCH LIVES ON"  On April 30, 1997, Sutch's world tumbled down with his mother's death at 81. This relationship is the object of much debate, although both Thann – and Giselle, for that matter – maintain they didn't feel welcome around her.  

Sharpe suspects that both women had ample grounds for their feelings: “There is little doubt that David's mother did not ever want him to 'leave' her. She actively discouraged his relationships with girlfriends. As he'd had no real male role model he probably thought this was normal. I have never, though, been able to get my head around him wanting to be buried with her, as he is.” (For an alternate viewpoint, see Bob Burgos's comments below.) 

As many of Sutch's associates note, it's no accident that he took his own life so soon after losing his mother – yet, in his final live performances, Sutch began sporting a button that read, “Annie Emily Sutch Lives On,” as if to suggest that he wasn't ready to let go just yet. And, while Sutch hanged himself in his mother's home, he'd never visited her grave, nor bought a headstone for it. (Sharpe: 181) 

Opinions remain equally divided on his mental state. On one hand, an agent who'd booked him some lucrative TV ad work maintains that he'd phone for lengthy chats after his mother's death, and didn't seem visibly depressed (Sharpe: 199).

The musicians who backed him for a Raving Loony Party celebration on April Fool's Day, 1999, in London, noticed a far less animated Sutch, as lead guitarist Terry Clemson explains: “He used none of his usual props and changed his act around. In the middle of 'Jack The Ripper' he went off on a tangent – it seemed as though his heart wasn't really in it and he had something on his mind.” (Sharpe: 200) 

Fellow '60s traveler Jess Conrad is even more blunt, saying, “His work was tailing off and much of what he was getting was absolute crap. He couldn't even get on the Sixties revival weekends.” (Sharpe: 200) As Sharpe points out, Sutch's headstone bears his real name – not that of his public alter ego. 

“.,.THEN MONEY IT IS" 
It's difficult to analyze what ran through Sutch's mind during this final, most difficult period of his life, as he rarely acknowledged his condition publicly – though he'd put on several medications, including Lithium, and Prozac, as recently as May.  Then and now, however, rock's fiercely competitive fraternity has never been kind to mental illness, as these lines from Frank Zappa's 1981 song, “Suicide Chump,” suggest: "Go ahead on 'n get it over with then, find you a bridge and take a jump/Just make sure you do it right the first time, 'cause nothin's worse than a Suicide Chump".

Or, ponder this wisdom from Ted Nugent, on the suicide of Nirvana's Kurt Cobain: "I didn't like him, I'm glad he's dead. And the only way that girl, Kirk Cobain's daughter (Frances Bean, who was still an infant), will have a normal childhood is when that worthless, addicted slut of a mother (Courtney Love) dies, and she'll be given to parents that give a damn.”  

Given these attitudes, does it makes sense that – as Sutch's driver recalls – his boss would visit specialists in the middle of the night, because he didn't want the tabloids getting wind of his visits? Do these behaviors reflect a case of “insanity making sense,” or a question of protective coloration? You decide. 

Not for nothing did Sharpe tell me: “Almost everyone who knew him thinks they may have been able to talk him out of it given the chance. They're well meaning but mistaken.”

Although he “doesn't feel qualified to pontificate on depression,” Sharpe cites one other factor as worthy of attention: “I grew up in much the same generation, when depression was seen as something almost to be ashamed of, and the circles in which he moved did not recognise the existence of such problems. Whether he could ever articulate his feelings is a moot point but he was on medication so must have known all was not well.” 

Indeed, through all these varying accounts and recollections of his life, Sutch comes across as an ambivalent, conflicted man – a quality that he recognized in this notebook entry, found after his death: “You may think money will give you the chance of freedom, but it does not. But if I had to choose money or no money, then money it is.” 

So what kind of footprint did Sutch, the man, leave behind? Well, there's the outrageous persona who liberated the stage – a full decade before the likes of Alice Cooper and Iggy Pop grabbed most of the credit for doing likewise, in most of the official rock history books. Songs like “Jack The Ripper” have gained an unexpected second life, through covers by well-known current bands, like the White Stripes. 

There's Sutch, the bandleader, whose ever-changing cast of lineups served as a training ground for 40-plus musicians – who, fittingly, get a chapter to themselves in Sharpe's book. Guitarist Ritchie Blackmore (Deep Purple), keyboardist Matthew Fisher (Procol Harum), session pianist Nicky Hopkins (Beatles, Rolling Stones) and bassist Nick Simper (also of Deep Purple) are just some of the bigger names who first called themselves Savages. 

And, finally, there's the impression that stuck longest with musicians like the Lurkers' drummer, Pete Haynes – known to the world as Manic Essco – who shared a bill with Sutch in the punk era. During my 6/7/10 interview with him, Haynes's recollections of their encounter were fresh, and vivid, nearly 40 years later: 

“We came off, and he said, "Is that it?" I said, "Yeah." And he said, "No, no, you've got to do longer [sets] than that." He spoke to me like a kindly uncle, like a kid with a learning disability, or something. I said, "I'm tired!" And he said, "You can't be tired, you're a young bloke." I said, "I'm knackered." He said, "No, no, you've got to go on again, you've got to do it again."  “So we had a bit of a chat. We went up there again, and I think we did it [the set] about a minute quicker! And he just gave up. But, I tell you, he was one of the best people we played with. He was a real friendly bloke, and I suppose he knew that we were very green. And he let us use the gear, wished us the best of luck, had a pint with me afterwards. I thought he was a good bloke, but we didn't meet many people like that again.” 

These recollections have fueled the recollections of countless others, such as author and musicians Alan Clayson, whose song, “The Last Show On Earth,” offers as remarkable tribute as any to the top-hatted, leopardskin-coated man who stalked many a stage for decades: 

“David, oh David, hang onto that daydream. 
Hang on to that daydream, if it meant so much 
That centuries fade, and some smile and remember 
The man who was Screaming Lord Sutch.” 

CHATS WITH “WILD” BOB BURGOS (11/23+29/13) 
As Graham Sharpe's book indicates, some 40 different musicians passed through the ranks of the Savages, the primary name that Sutch bestowed on his backing musicians. Among the longer-serving members is drummer "Wild" Bob Burgos ("The Tattooed Sledgehammer Of Rock 'N' Roll"), who originally met Sutch during the mid-1970s. 

When Carlo Little left in 1979, Bob answered his call to duty as a Savage -- and wound up staying with Sutch "for the best part of 23 years and wouldn't change any of it," as he advises, in his 11/23/13 email. "He was one of the kindest people I have ever met and a true gentleman underneath his all crazy costumes." 

Like many of the key players in Sutch's life, Bob's memories of him remain vivid after his 1999 passing. "Now that he's passed away it leaves me with a lot of sadness, but also a lot of joy when I think of all the great times we had touring all over Europe together,..He was a very special person to so many, and I believe that you will never see the likes of him again in any shape or form." 

With those sentiments in mind, Bob took a break from a recent round of studio work to share his insights about the man who called himself Lord Sutch. 

CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): As you know, the '60s was a period of extremes -- you had commercial pop ("Mrs. Brown, You've Got A Lovely Daughter") coexisting with the gutsier likes of "Can't Explain," for example. Why didn't Sutch's records of that era find their niche, as well? He clearly hoped for similar success, so why didn't he get it?

"WILD" BOB BURGOS (WBB): As you already know the '60s was a crazy time and I believe that David,...Or Screaming Lord Sutch & The Savages...was just too outrageous with his horror songs at that time to succeed in getting into the pop charts. If he sung ballads or pretty songs, then maybe he might of had a chart hit, but he was very successful on all his live shows,...In fact he was more successful than most other bands around at that time cause he was a true entertainer, and the many people that went to see him on his theatrical shows were usually thrilled or scared with all the skullheads, coffin, masks, choppers, swords, fire and blood curdling screams etc, etc,...But this was never chart topping material for the typical public music fan,...But he was definitely successful throughout his career in so many other ways. 

CR: Of course, the relationship between Sutch and his mother, Annie, gets a lot of discussion in Graham's book -- people seem divided on whether the dynamic between them was healthy, or unhealthy. Where do you come down on the issue? 

WBB: Yes, David loved his mother very much,...Annie was a lovely lady and I knew her well. 

She was a devoted mother and was always there for him, they were so very close! 

When girl friends let him down in any way, David always turned back to his old mum who never let him down, and this infuriated his girl friends,...It was a kind-of marriage in itself as their bond together was very strong that I thought was a lovely thing, and when Annie passed away David fell apart because she was the only true love in his life. 

Annie was always there for David,...They were soul mates, and when she had passed he went down hill and never recovered...They were the perfect match in so many ways.

CR: As you know, there's also a lot of debate on whether Sutch suffered from clinical depression, a problem he rarely acknowledged publicly -- what held him back from getting professional help? 

WBB: It was depression and stress that took David away from us and there was nothing he could do except live with it, 'cause I believe that if the public found out, his whole monster/fun attitudes and stage acts would be looked at in a different way,...It must have been very hard for him to cope at times now that it has all come to light. 

CR: As Tony Dangerfield states of Sutch's suicide:: "...what he did was meant -- it wasn't a cry for help." Do you share this belief, or was there anything that could have prevented him from going down that road? 

WBB: I think Tony Dangerfield was right when he said that it 'wasn't a cry for help',...David really couldn't cope with life in the fast lane anymore, and couldn't face everybody knowing his faults and problems 'cause everyone looked at him as a true leader and a strong character, but inside he was very vulnerable. 

CR: Sutch's lifelong political tomfoolery is another interesting aspect of his personality -- coming long before today's media era, where third party candidates are practically part of the political furniture. Did you see them as serious ventures, or simply another outlet, given his lack of chart success? 

WBB: David's political beliefs were quite normal to many people in the UK, but he took it too far so as to gather popularity with his Loony Party,...I don't think it was anything to do with his lack of chart success, but more to be in the public eye and having fans, followers and of course many friends. 

CR: Many people tend to tag Lord Sutch as a "novelty horror rocker," and call it a day, but I think there was more going on there...what made him such a distinctive live performer (especially compared to the other legends that you've worked with, like Chuck Berry, for instance)? What's your favorite memory of playing live with him? 

WBB: David grew up in the world of the very early horror movies,...He loved them, and I believe he incorporated all his childhood thoughts and dreams into his music, stage shows and Loony party that would make him different from anyone else, and it worked! 

I remember back in the late '70s when we were just about to go on tour around Britain,...His son Tristian was about 10 years old at that time, and my Mother was to look after him whilst we were away, and just before we went David gave him a big box of toy Monsters and plastic Creepy crawlies to play with, that I thought very strange at the time but also very funny. 

He really was a true Rocker and also to many in Britain as being the king of horror, and I believe that he was too, but again he might have taken it a little too far sometimes. 

His distinctive stage act was out of this world with blood, chopped of heads axes fire and many other crazy murderous things always being acted on stage that always packed out every club we played at. To name my favourite memory with him is very difficult,...Just too many to mention (Editor's Note: see link below for one that I have found...)! 

CR: What's your favorite record of Sutch's -- one that you performed on, and one that you didn't? 

WBB: One of my favourite songs that I played drums on with him is: "Scream And Scream," and two of his tracks that I didn't perform on that I liked were: "All Black and Hairy" & "Monster in Black Tights",...Both were wonderful tracks! 

CR: As the book mentions, you dedicated an album to Sutch -- where did the inspiration come from, and how do you look back on it now? 

WBB: David was like a brother to me, he was one of the family and a wonderful person, so when he passed away I wanted to dedicate my latest album to him,...In fact, I have dedicated two or three albums to him over the years 'cause he was a very special person to me and always shall be. 

I've always been inspired by David and his music,...There has always been something that united us both together from those early days gone by, and I've always believed that we spoke the same language so to speak,...Ha,ha,ha!! He once dedicated his album ROCK & HORROR to me, and that really knocked me out at the time when that record was released back in 1982, and it still does today,...It meant a lot to me cause I knew he meant it !!!! 

CR: A more general question, that I'm sure you uniquely positioned to answer, from your experiences with Matchbox: it seems that interest in the '50s and '60s has never been stronger. What makes people keeping coming back to that era, and artists like Sutch? 

WBB: The interest for artists like Screaming Lord Sutch has never gone away 'cause he has always been a household name and is part of the English pop heritage, and being an outrageous character too with his Loony Party, has always kept him in the public eye. 

The early '50s and '60s in the UK has always had a strong following,...More so than in the USA.

In Europe there are many organisations, clubs that cater for early Rock 'n' Roll music and is a lifestyle for so many Rockers and Teddy Boys, etc., etc.!! 

The music back in those halcyon days was truly wonderful compered to today's scene and lifestyle and David Sutch was part of those glorious times that the Rockers still remember and want to keep alive. 

CR: We're almost 15 years into a world that's gone without David Sutch's presence. What kind of a legacy did he leave behind, in your opinion?

WBB: My legacy, my thoughts and my last words concerning David is: The last paragraph that I wrote in my last email to you....  His name is David, Lord David Sutch, and he formed the Monster Raving Loony Party,...The most popular political fun party ever known in the UK,...This claim to fame alone would be enough and quite enviable. But David is far more than the team leader for the loonies. It is safe to say that hardly a day goes by when each of us is not exposed to, in some form or other...The genius of Screaming Lord Sutch. 

LINK-A_RAMA (Just paste into your browser, and let 'er rip!)  SCREAMING LORD SUTCH ("Loonabilly Rock 'N' Roll") http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbGLznvSsyY

SCREAMING LORD SUTCH ("Scream And Scream"): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8hzIxpSqvo 

"THE SHOW MUST GO ON" (HELSINKI, FINLAND, 1988) http://thebookofbands2.blogspot.com/2010/09/next_3069.html

Phil Donahue turned 76 last month (December 21). The man credited with creating “tabloid TV" hasn't held a regular gig since 2005, when MSNBC yanked his last show – either because he opposed the Iraq War (Phil's version), or his ratings lacked the candlepower of yore (everybody else's).

In July 1981, The Decline of Western Civilization gatecrashed art houses and midnight flicks across the land – led by its iconic poster image of Germs lead singer, Darby Crash, who never lived to see his big screen debut. (Crash died via deliberate drug overdose on December 7, 1980, only to be overshadowed the next day, by a certain J. Lennon's murder...you know that story.)

However I didn't get to see the fuss for myself until early '83. Living in West Michigan, we didn't entertain any debate about what constituted proper music. My Top 40-driven classmates had enough trouble understanding Elvis Costello, or Deborah Harry, let alone someone like Darby Crash – lying flat on his back, down for the count, oblivious to the chaos whirring around him...such as those adoring fans squiggling all over his body with Magic Markers (or “Magick Markers,” perhaps, in light of all those murmurings about punk's satanic connections)...see what I mean?

At any rate, Decline triggered a mini- punksploitation wave, including Fear's legendary “Saturday Night Live” appearance (Halloween '81) – instigated by John Belushi, of course – and laughable punk-related episodes on “CHiPS” (“Battle Of The Bands,” aired 1/31/82), and “Quincy, ME” (“Next Stop, Nowhere,” aired 12/1/82). (Interestingly enough, all three were NBC shows. For those who enjoy keeping score, the TV punk bands were dubbed Pain, and Mayhem, respectively...a fair indication of the mentality at work, eh?)

Phil did his part for punksploitation, too – knocking heads in his Chicago studio enclave with every sort of margin-walker imaginable. You name it, he had it, from crossdressers, to faith healers, neo-Nazis...and yes, punk rockers, which brings us back where we started.

Clips of Phil's '84 and '86 sitdowns with the hardcore tribe have popped up on Youtube, but not this occasion, documented on a hissy C-60 cassette tape (not Maxell or TDK, but some crappy off-brand, Cycles) that came into my hands. The date is given as 6/28/82, which may (or may not) be accurate. I don't know if this copy documents a rerun, or an original broadcast.

On this occasion, Phil referees between a group of avowed punks – how many are onstage, I'm not sure – and their uncomprehending antagonists, including Parents of Punkers founder Serena Dank, who grabbed her 15 minutes' worth during this sweater-clad, investment-obsessed decade as some kind of self-appointed expert on the genre.

Along the way, Phil treats the audience to a performance clip from Decline – in this case, “I Just Want Some Skank,” by the Circle Jerks – and pops the inevitable question about its depiction of slamdancing. “The dances are stoned, or otherwise mind-altered – throw in a little music, a couple of macho personalities, and you've got an inflammable situation. True?” Not so, the punks retort: “They're anti-drug. They're anti-drunk, lady – they're not into that.”

But Dank's not having any of it, claiming the scene attracts young people “that just don't know how to digest the message.” As Exhibit A, Dank cites “Robbie,” a teen who's apparently no longer interested in punking up, yet seems unable to muster more than a cursory explanation of motivated her in the first place: “I don't like being bored, and hanging around these people that I didn't like, and doing stupid things that I didn't like.”

Phil soon changes the subject to lyrics. Unfortunately, Phil chooses to quote from “Revenge,” and “Spraypaint The Walls” (Black Flag), plus “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” (Dead Kennedys), with all the solemnity of Winston Churchill addressing radio listeners during the London Blitz.

I had a writing teacher who did the same thing, and it gave me a headache, between my bouts of yawning – but that's exactly how Phil chooses to intone the opening salvo of “Nazi Punks”: “Punk ain't no religious cult (BIG PAUSE)...Punk means thinking for yourself (BIG PAUSE, BIG PAUSE, YET AGAIN)....You ain't hardcores 'cause you spike your hair (BIG PAUSE, DEAD AIR)...When a jock still lives inside your head” (SHORTER PAUSE, SILENCE).

However, Phil's deliberate mangling of the title as “Nazi Punk” gets him in trouble – since the song lyrics are an emphatic broadside against Nazis – which prompts a furious barrage of cross-talk from the punks: “NO, IT'S NOT! THAT'S NOT THE NAME!” (The Dead Kennedys' label, Alternative Tentacles, also references this incident on its website's biography page.)

Unruffled, Phil protests that he can't drop the F-bomb on TV – even it's part of a song – and, hence, that's why he shortened the title. So why not pick a song title that he can utter, without any problem?

Because, like any bigtime TV host, Phil enjoys playing every possible end against the middle; that's why roughly a third of this show gets devoted to the issue of his guests' appearance. Naturally, the audience gleefully weighs in on that score (“If it were my child, he wouldn't live in my house looking like that, that is for sure”), when not indulging in the odd bit of moralistic finger-wagging (“just be a good citizen, help other people, and be a good Christian – you're accomplishing nothing”).

Phil piles on, too. After conceding that his spiky-haired subjects might have legitimate grudges against a society “filled with corruption, a lot of poor people, a lot of drinking, a lot of injustice,” he goes for the jugular: “What you've done is make yourselves so bizarre, that you are – in effect – saying, 'Now, look, see how I look! Do you love me, anyway? Do you love me now?'”

Sufficiently warmed up, Uncle Phil further claims that his guests find “some sort of comfort in your own absurdity,” and “getting some joy out of making this corrupt society angry at you” – this, mind you, from the man who wore a skirt over his suit (however briefly) during a show about crossdressing!

The disconnect is enough to make a 16-year-old punk identified as “Jeff” – who assumes the thankless task of designated spokesman's role, as this show goes on, and on, and on – concede as much. However, he maintains that such gestures became necessary, “because the punks were sick of this whole hippie thing by the '70s, right?” he says. “The way it deteriorated in the '70s was, [by] not caring, and doing nothing.”

As capsule summaries go, that's a fair expression of the hardcore generation's distaste for the hippies-cum-boomers who felt so comfortable judging them – though, to be fair, Phil redeems himself (somewhat) in mid-show. After a woman voices puzzlement about why punks wouldn't feel compelled to fight for their country, he recalls the country's failure to question the Vietnam War.

“That's the kind of thing that'll get you 57,000 young men coming home in plastic zipper bags,” Phil warns. “So they [the punks] want you to think for yourself, and not be such a puppet, and kind of knee-jerk responsive person to a government that may or may not call a war in its own best interest.”

The line draws some thunderous applause – providing an interesting rebuttal to those “morning in America” ads that defined Ronald Reagan's successful re-election to the presidency, only two years later – and provides one of the few real meaningful insights to emerge from this particular “Donahue” episode.

However, insights were in short supply around this time. I wound up seeing Decline with a female friend of mine, at the long-defunct Eastown Theater, in Grand Rapids – which meant getting up around 9:30 a.m. (or so), on a Friday, to catch our bus from the GVSU campus. Unlike me, my friend wasn't really into punk, but – like yours truly – always up for an entertaining experience.

We had to catch the first matinee showing, because the last bus hissed back to Grand Valley at 4:30 p.m. This timeline ensured an abbreviated experience, to put it mildly, but we managed.

Back at the GVSU cafeteria, we tried to explain what we'd seen. I brought up Darby's big Magic Marker-clad moment, only to have one of our tablemates tartly dismiss our report with a flick of his sweater-clad collar: “They're just the dregs of society!”

“Excuse me?” I ventured.

The answer didn't change, with each word repeated for emphasis: “They're...just...the dregs of society!”

I gave up trying to explain anymore, and went back to whatever was hanging off my fork.

My mind flashed back to a comment uttered near the end of Phil's televised punk rock run-in: “Why should people have to conform to everything, you know? What's the point about being the same as everybody else?” Looking back, that strikes me as a fair comment about my Eastown experience.

There we sat, my friend and I, among roughly eight to 10 fellow travelers – some looking like hippies or punks, and others, not so much – united, if only temporarily, by our shared desire for an off-the-beaten-track experience.

A guy that everyone knew as Rainbow took our tickets, which allowed us the privilege of staring at a single screen. We felt like the last of a dying breed, huddled together in a 523-seat room that had definitely seen its share of better days.

We wondered where the hell everybody else went, and if something like this might happen again...proof positive, for anyone needing it, that those cynical freewheeling '70s were finally dead and buried.

Not long afterwards, the Eastown closed; from what I gather, it's now home to a church (Uptown Assembly of God). But we still have those memories, along with the music – and that Magic Marker-clad guy frozen on the poster.

As the old cliché goes, “You had to be there.” But, given a choice between seeing Darby go through his paces once more...and another finger-wagging lecture from somebody kitted out in a sweater...I know which experience I'd pick in a heartbeat.